The More Things Change
by Drassil
Summary: How moments in Sam's history were revised by some of his leaps.
1. I Can Be Your Long Lost Pal

Note: 'The Leap Home' and 'A Leap For Lisa' have happened. (In other words, the event in this chapter occurs in a revised timeline that resulted from all of the leaps in Seasons 1-4, but it's the episodes mentioned above that are particularly relevant. I hope that makes sense... and that you enjoy the story either way!)

* * *

"What kind of stupid vending machine are you?" The man glared through bloodshot eyes at the eater of his change, specifically at the compact screen where 'Currently not in service' was emblazoned across a blue star motif. The man eyed the machine up and down, trying to decide which part to discipline first. He peered at the cream-coloured nozzle out of which his coins should have been returned, but hadn't been. "A nozzle - that figures."

Facing off silently with the non-vendor, the man inhaled, almost lost his balance, and grabbed the machine for support. His enemy had helped him, it was taunting him - now he was even more annoyed. He banged the side of the machine with his palm, and it grunted mechanically.

"This machine is not in service," proclaimed the device in a bureaucratic drone.

"Then why did you eat my change, you - alright, that's it. That's it!" It had gone on long enough, all of it. They were probably listening in, waiting for a reason to throw him off the Project, out of the Navy and into the gutter; and if they wanted a goodbye show, by golly he'd give them one.

By the time the man came back with the hammer, most of the erstwhile spectators had sidled out of the lab. But one man remained, observing from across the room. A new recruit called Sam. He thought he recognised the voice of this man, who had hired him after one telephone call; but he sounded so hoarse now it was hard to be sure. And though he was standing like a Mafia Thor in front of the Project Star Bright vending machine, he had his back to Sam. Could this really be Commander Calavicci, his superior, looking more than a little drunk? He couldn't be certain but, bound by an unknown force, some intangible thread of loyalty, he stood watching. It was as if Sam was the only one who could see and hear him, and if he didn't pay heed, no one else would.

The man drew back the hammer, as if he were about to pitch a baseball. Then he slammed it into the machine. Still the screen shone at him, and the dull voice admonished him. But he'd dented it. He was teaching it the meaning of scars. It's not easy to go on and on when you have scars.

Sam watched as the man continued to batter the vending machine. He bellowed a string of obscenities: some in English that Sam wished he didn't understand, and some that Sam truly didn't understand, in Vietnamese. For all the inert resistance that the machine was putting up, its attacker was maintaining a dogged passion summoned from within. His money was in there, in was in there, and this was one cage that he would break.

Sam glanced at the doorway, where a Marine guard had appeared, a firearm dormant amongst twitching fingers. Sam realised he had to act before something terrible happened. Signalling to the guard to stay where he was, Sam began to walk over to the vending machine. The man sensed his presence, but didn't turn.

"Excuse me."

"What do you want? I'm busy." The glass front of the machine was starting to crack.

"If you want change, maybe..." Sam extended his hand with some coins in. "I can give you change."

And then Al turned, and Sam saw the fear and conviction and hope and resignation in his face, and remembered the Pulitzer-winning photo of the Vietnam POW looking back with the same expression, and the photographs from before the Apollo mission with him in his spacesuit, proud of the journey ahead yet worn by the journey behind, and Sam mourned within himself, asking why, why had the world done such wrong to this terrific guy?

And Al looked into those bright young eyes, where the knowledge of an old sage was mingled with the tireless curiosity of a child, and wondered why a man like this would want to have anything to do with him.

And Sam looked more, because he was seeing more, finding something never remembered yet never forgotten in himself. He was sixteen, in a field, so upset, so close to defeat, asking why; and this man was with him, somehow, watching, listening, lending him strength; and then Sam was giving thanks... thanks-giving... like a dream, but something more, yet not real. Barely enough to grasp, and Sam couldn't understand, couldn't answer the whys of then, the whys of now. But here he was, and here was Commander Calavicci, and Sam wanted to know him, to help him.

And Al peered at the face, trying to understand how someone he didn't know could feel this familiar. And the face swam in his mind, surfacing from some other time; and there was another standing with him, but Al felt alone; and somehow, the face was his. The faces were his. It was too vague to comprehend, but too strong to ignore. And nor would he ignore this man, reaching out to him... with change.

"You're not a friend of my Uncle Jack by any chance, are you?"

"No, Sir. I'm Samuel Beckett. I'm new to Project Star Bright. Thanks to you."

"Ah, Sam. I can call you Sam, can't I?"

He was the first person there not to call him 'Samuel'. Sam had worried that about a future where everyone on the Project, even his closest colleagues, insisted on calling him Samuel.

"I'm Albert Calavicci. You can call me Al."

Al put down the hammer, Sam slipped the coins back into his pocket, the Marine relaxed the grip on his weapon. Sam and Al shook hands.

"Listen, I'm sorry about my... performance. But this stupid thing... I don't wanna buy my food from a robot if I can help it! Next they'll be asking us to make it with one."

"I remember them working on this artificial intelligence system when I was at MIT."

"'Artificial' intelligence is right!"

Sam smirked. "I'm hoping to design something better one day."

"Just remember to give it a thick outer shell, so I can whack it when it doesn't behave." Al illustrated his aspiration with a whacking gesture in the air, then turned his attention back to Sam. "Haven't they given you a star badge yet? Come on, I'll fix you up with one. I think I've got some paperwork for you to fill in too."

"I think we should drop by sickbay first. If you don't mind me saying so, you seem a little unsteady."

"You're the doctor. Besides, they're probably expecting me."

The two men walked towards the doorway.

"Good to meet you, Al."

"Thanks, Sam. Good to meet you too."


	2. RetrievAl

I woke up. For a moment, I wondered where I was. Then I looked over, and saw her. The lady who made all my days worthwhile, the woman who made me feel like my entire body existed just to say her name. Beth. I was tempted to count up the months, the years, but in a way it didn't matter: I love her, and that's timeless.

As I watched her breathing, and took in her aroma, a distressing sensation crept up on me: there'd been others. Suddenly, my head was filling with images of other women, girlfriends, wives. But I knew I had never, I could never... And yet they weren't from a dream, because they weren't fresh enough, or fleeting enough.

I was scared, but fascinated. I felt like one of those painting analysers, who scan portraits to find out what was painted underneath. It's not that there's anything wrong with what's real and known, not at all; but there's more to know, and it matters somehow, and you have to discover it. The more I thought, the more I was remembering of things I'd done, but hadn't done. Minutes passed, and now my memory was like two railroad tracks running parallel, and I could hop from one train to the other, taking two different journeys side by side.

Was it the VC? What had they... no, it wasn't them doing this to my mind. But it started when I got repatriated, when I came back to Beth. Before that, there was just one railroad, one line of time. I thought about this life, the one I knew I'd lived: piecing myself back together with my nurse, my sweetheart; the Apollo mission; the girls; making the choice between career and family I knew I had to make, and turning down Project Star Bright; early retirement; serenity... wait. I knew Star Bright, I hadn't turned it down. I'd lived it on the other line. I jumped trains, and looked out as it flashed by... it was becoming just as real, but I let it come. First Star Bright, then the desert, the other project, Quantum Leap, with...

Sam.

My God, Sam.

He'd done this. He'd done this for me. Given me another timeline, another lifeline. Sam. I caught my breath, as next to me, my wife stirred.

---

I packed. I told Beth I had to go see a colleague, a friend I owed a favour to. I wanted to tell her more, of course I did, but I couldn't. She knew that there'd been something that had made her believe, really believe, that I was alive and coming home, but she couldn't remember what it had been, and though I was pretty sure, I couldn't begin to tell her, not yet. But this time, I promised her I'd come home, and that was enough. Bless her.

I wasn't used to spending this long in a driving seat. I pictured myself in another car, a sleeker model, shooting along a straight, open road. But it didn't matter how long it took, I was going to get there. Finally I was crossing into New Mexico, and gripping the wheel a little tighter.

I stopped off in Estiny. Before I left, I found myself buying cigars. I couldn't remember the last time I'd smoked one, but now I felt like I couldn't be without one. The railroads in my mind had shifted closer together, almost intertwining like a strand of DNA; but when they blurred like that, I reminded myself about Beth, my wife, and then about Sam. My friend.

Working through the strangeness of trying to remember the way to somewhere I'd never been, I sped out into the desert. Was it even going to be there? If I went the wrong way, I'd never know for sure, and I had to know. And then I saw it in the distance. Wow. Closer... closer... I was at the gate.

I recognised the guard. Jasper. He didn't know me, but I was expecting that. I thought hard, and reeled off an access code... he opened the gate. I was in.

The next set of guards, who didn't look familiar, got suspicious. My vehicle wasn't registered to the Project. And they scanned me: no implant. Dammit. I gave them another code, but they weren't buying it. My Naval authority didn't get me anywhere either. I wasn't having this. I told them I wasn't leaving, so unless they were willing to escort me inside to speak to the staff, who were intelligent enough to listen to me, they might as well shoot me. For a moment, they just stood there. Then they agreed. They searched me, and took me inside. I tried to look cool, but my heart was thundering.

As I looked around from wall to wall, as my shoes clicked across the floors, it was new to my senses, happening for the first time, but already there in my head, imprinted countless times. I knew the elevator, the corridors, the doors.

They took me to Beeks. She listened quietly, patiently, like she always did - did she still know the secrets I'd never told her? - and she believed. Or at least, she didn't not believe. The guards left us. I was fighting not to quiver.

She took me through to see Tina. She looked fant... I wasn't supposed to have those thoughts, but I couldn't help it. The girl looked confused as anything, but that was Tina. I think I loved her once... but now I had Beth. And Tina had...

Gooshie! If he only knew how refreshing that breath of his seemed to me at that moment. The more that was right, was familiar, the better I felt. Gooshie knew there hadn't been a leak, and he knew that the stuff I was coming out with could only be known by an intimate member of the team. But it didn't feel concrete to him, and I could tell that he couldn't quite accept that what we were living was somehow 'alternate'. There was more I could have told him to convince him further, like the things Tina would say during... but it felt like infidelity to have those thoughts, let alone share them. Who else could I...

Ziggy! How could I have forgotten? I told Gooshie to check with Ziggy. He didn't know who I meant. There was no Ziggy. Well there was, but he was called Alpha. My hope began to falter. Alpha didn't seem to want to talk to Gooshie about me - was that a bad sign? - except to confirm that Sam had leaped into me in '57. That didn't help. Dammit. Alpha should know I was telling the truth - why wasn't he saying?

Then someone else arrived. The Project Observer. It had never occurred to me that it could be someone other than me. He was old, smartly dressed, British... his name was Edward St. John. Meeting him felt like the closest I'd got to Sam so far, but though he was polite, he was the most stubborn of the lot. St. John didn't believe that "Samuel" (he called him Samuel - as my kids would say, that's just wrong!) would recognise me, or that I could possibly function as a neurological hologram tuned into Sam. I was deflating - British people are so hard to argue with. And besides, he insisted that they couldn't give me access to the Imaging Chamber, or even pass on my "claims" to Sam, without full Committee approval. Damn Committee! I thought we'd gotten them to disband.

What could I do? The Committee might say yes - in a few weeks - but if I turned around now and went home until then, it'd be like I never came. After everything I'd been through, everything that had happened, all that Sam had done, I couldn't just retreat. I wouldn't.

The next bit happened so quick. I saw the handlink in St. John's hand; grabbed it; ran past him out of the room; rushed down the corridor with people shouting at me to stop; called out access codes to get the doors open; kept on going; got to the Control Room; caught my breath, checked the Imaging Chamber was online, heard the pounding footsteps, tapped on the handlink; thought of Sam; sprinted up to the Imaging Chamber; and, as I heard that 'whoosh' I know so well, in I went.

The door slid shut. I was in a street, with rows of identical houses. I couldn't see Sam. And there was no Gooshie to help me pinpoint him. Damn, I thought that once I was in the Imaging Chamber, he'd be there. That's how I'd imagined it. Then I heard a voice.

"Would you like me to centre you on Sam... Al?"

It was Ziggy! Whatever the hell they were calling her, that was Ziggy. She knew. Maybe she'd known all along. "I think you know the answer to that, pal."

The street dissolved around me. I was in a bedroom. There was a mirror, with the reflection of a scarily thin girl. And looking in that mirror was Sam. Just as I remembered him. But before I got sentimental, I had to check that I was a fully-functioning hologram. Again. For the first time.

"Sam... Sam, can you hear me? Can you see me?"

He turned. He peered at the handlink.

"Where's St. John?"

I couldn't stop myself asking the next question, I couldn't wait. "I'm Al. Do you remember me?"

He didn't. I told him about the leap into me, the leap with Beth, and the leap back to Beth I guessed he'd made. He'd forgotten. Maybe he was swiss-cheesed. Or maybe, when it came to memories of me, of us, he had no cheese at all.

I felt nervous. I was betting that Ziggy had locked the door, but once they overrode her, they'd haul me out, and my chance would be up. I carried on talking, he carried on listening, but nothing was changing. He knew I was a bona fide hologram tuned to his mind, and that I was genuine in that moment, but like the others, he couldn't quite believe that I'd been real before. I felt my anxiety hardening into heavy sadness, but I knew I needed to be strong. He deserved that. If this was my last moment with him, I was going to make the most of it, and do what I had to do.

I reached into my jacket. "Sam, even if you never remember, I do - I always will." I pulled out a cigar and lighter, hidden from the guards in the jacket lining. "And I know it was you who made sure that I had Beth to come home to. You put right the greatest of wrongs, and you're the greatest man I've ever known." I lit the cigar, and inhaled deeply. "Thanks, Sam."

He looked at the cigar in the my hand, as the smoke rose, turned and disappeared. He looked at the handlink held in my other hand. His eyes glistened and he whispered my name.

---

I go back to Project Quantum Leap as often as I can. St. John and I take it in turns to be Observer; when it's my turn, he flies back to London to spend time with his family. I told him how important that was. Beth knows now, and she understands. She realises how much we owe Sam. She isn't sure if she could handle a move to New Mexico, away from the kids and our friends, but she's thinking about it. Beeks said she could always do with a good nurse to help her out, and they don't come any better than Beth.

And Sam's still leaping. We managed to get that girl and her family through the anorexia. And you wouldn't believe the leaps we've had since - or maybe you would. On one of them, Sam leaped back along his DNA into his Grandma Nettie, and when he'd done what he needed to do, it turned out he'd changed his own name in the process! Now he's John Samuel Beckett. I still call him Sam, of course, but because he's no longer Sam to the rest of the world, we have this running joke: Dr. Sam Beckett will never return home. 


End file.
